I was at entirely no fault, yet my latent guilt complex kicked in, and I immediately started unnecessarily pleading that I was innocent; that everything that had happened was the exact opposite of what I had instructed those involved explicitly not to do. But this happenstance wasn't even that major. It had no reason for the level of concern I gave it.
It may have been the proverbial last straw that broke the camel's back. I have no idea where what went wrong, but my mind snapped. The single lock holding back the frustration broke, and my mind instantly went into self-blame and anger.
As I started the rage-induced power walk, I found myself starting at the mountain. That looming mountain. It towers, and in someway it could be a physical metaphor for the struggle I've been facing here. The thing with Mount Hood is that you can drive to the treeline at Timberline Lodge, and start your accent there. It gives you a running start. The Northwest does this too. A great job market, ripe for unique and young talent, and taking people in. And they do.
But there are only so many allotted climbing permits up this mountain. Those who are privileged enough to snag one before they fill up are permitted up the mountain. Others find they arrive at Timberline Lodge, ready to get to work and show off their stuff, only to learn they don't have the privilege of getting stable housing, ready medical care, no hike up the ridge for you.
Yet others come from afar, and are ripe for the region, yet find they chose this wonderful looking ski area from which to start, just to learn there is no safe approach to the summit from their location. They were misled by marketing efforts into thinking they would have the mountain to scale with their own wits, when in reality, they have expended their resources on moving to the region, and cannot move on.
I'm in that last camp. I came with the promise that there would be a progressive, young, and energetic population. So I chose a perfect looking northern camp, ready to ascend when I arrived. But alas. No approach. So I've done what I can. I've made this camp as nice as I can try.
But the progressive, young, and energetic population? They are riding on their privilege up the mountain. They secured their pricey climbing permit, bought the expensive top notch gear, and have already started their accent. And that lucky room for a mountain climb only opens up when one of the members of the party comes back down due to exhaustion or altitude sickness, and only those with the resources and luck can start their accent, while the rest of us are stuck on our less impressive summits, and warming our hands by the fire in Timberline Lodge.
The population on the non-approachable sides of the mountain are insular and protective. They contain a conservancy of attitude that I thought did not exist in this blue swinging utopia. Granted, while they are not as red as other places I've lived, they are more condescending and ignorant compared to those of the East. The rural here is a strange mix of a libertarian type of red, and a social type of red. And it is the majority in four out of the five counties I work in. Each has their own flavor, yet all in the same idea: Outsiders are not to be trusted, different is bad, and status quo is the only way to hold on to what little you have left.
I've traveled to Timberline Lodge, and I've met and spent some time with those who made it there, and chose not the wrong area but simply did not have the resources to begin ascending. They live in the lower middle to lower echelons of society, content, but not excelling. Their spreadsheets may be static, but they hold hope that they will update eventually, with enough hard work.
Don't get me wrong. All people across the region are beautiful. They all hold their own interesting quirks and quarks, and they all can be great to work with. I fancy myself the kind that can communicate with most people, but some are just too tough of eggs to crack. I've opened up my toolbox of methods and tried my best in all directions. But today affirmed that some battles you just have to leave behind.
This region has mentally exhausted me, and I am beginning to see why people hole up in their islands. Residents stay local to their niche, to the place that suits them. That could be from the center of the progressive city, all the way to the small flower lined Main Street of their rural village. But people do not mix. Both sides do not explore, do not reach out and connect, and cannot accept each other's help.
It's that crux that we see so often across this great nation. The urban has the resources to help the region, including the rural, and makes large decisions for the rural areas as a result their power. But the rural provide the food, the recreation, and the cultural diversity and escape for those in the urban areas.
Both need each other, yet they act like neither can ever get along. Cooperation out here is anything but a fragile line in the sand, and both parties are content to kick and dust that line away, and are content with the tide coming in and taking away the essential other. And that is not what I like. I cannot survive in an area that does not acknowledge it's other, and is perfectly fine with letting ignorance wilt the other half away.
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